Dust: (Part I: Sandstorms) (7 page)

At the side of one of the pages an advert read: ‘Meet hot girls in your area’. It was accompanied by a picture of a young Latino teen in a bikini bending for the camera. It was quite bizarre, he thought, that they should have this advert on a page about skin diseases but he opened a private tab and searched for
pornshute
anyway.

The site was one of his favourites because the streaming was generally very fast and consistent and most of the clips were good quality resolution, at least compared to places like
fucktube
. It contained a seemingly endless stream of content all filmed with a certain realist style. He flicked from one clip to the next rapidly opening new tabs – a lesbian couple who discovered each other’s pleasure ‘
for the first time’
, a horny wife who wanted to swallow hot cum fast, a lusty blonde who wanted her tight little pussy pounded – he chose the clips impulsively, scanning the thumbnails for a shot that looked enticing or some glance that suggested a ‘
human connection’
.

Although the clips were short he watched each one for only a moment, some addiction making him flick on, wanting more. The greater the humiliation or discomfort on the face of the actress the more he felt aroused, the more he wanted. It was like falling into a hole.  A Filipina girl cried beneath the weight of a potbellied white man with greying pubic hair. Her little chicken-yellow body looked so fragile it might rip under this old letch.
A tingle of excitement mixed with guilt. She looked very young but it was only a performance wasn’t it? He couldn’t be blamed just for looking at it? Even if it was realistic. She whimpered loudly as the weight of the man’s torso forced her face into the pillow.

Apart from the paper thin walls, the other problem with his room was the bed, which made a terrible squeaking noise every time he lay on it. As a result he had to stay as still as possible, the volume turned down low, as his forearm moved quickly back and forth. He was not able to hear as much as he would have liked but the headphones were downstairs.

He was enjoying one artfully shot clip titled ‘
Young ebony slut enjoys double anal’
when the battery on his laptop died. It was a real piece of shit and he generally had to keep it plugged in otherwise the battery barely lasted twenty minutes. To make matters worse the charger was downstairs as well so obviously he would have to carry on without it.

He closed his eyes trying to conjure up the image of the young ebony slut again but he couldn’t concentrate. Instead he tried to pictu
re Catarina, her eyes twinkling mischievously as she went down on him, struggling to fit him entirely into her perky mouth. He let out a groan as he felt himself getting close. She played with his balls, sucking him deeper and deeper into her mouth, the corners of a teasing smile tempting him cruelly. He was very close. He focused on her eyes; Catarina’s beautiful eyes, taunting him, making him harder. One moment they gleamed with a primeval wickedness, the next they were vulnerable, innocent, she made him froth inside. He ignored the squeak of the bed. She goaded him on; complicit in this filthy transgression. He was very close. He tried to avoid breathing. Out of nowhere an image of Alberta came into his mind.

He wiped it up with a pair of old underpants that were lying near the bed. He was empty. Empty and irritated. Why had he pictured Alberta all of a sudden? He pulled the duvet over and switched off the bedside lamp waiting to drift off. Normally he would fall asleep straight away but that night he lay awake, disturbed.

He had not thought about her in ages. It meant nothing, surely, but still, it was strange that he should think of her just at that moment.
His rash burned. The bites red and angry. What was she doing popping into his head? He didn’t care he told himself. Anyway he was in the city now.

He
was far too awake. His brain raced and the emptiness that had promised to lull him into sleep now expanded, engulfing his thoughts. His whole position seemed ludicrous when he was in this state of mind and he felt a tight knot developing in his stomach. He wondered if he was not going to be awake all night now.

After about forty minutes he got up and turned on the light. It was hopeless, there was no way he was going to be able to sleep with his thoughts going round and round in loops. He paced around the room finally spotting the script on the edge of his table. He picked it up and started reading.

First published in Great Britain in 2014. Lochlan Bloom has asserted his moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.